


unsaved

by bungles77



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crying, DreamSMP - Freeform, Drinking, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, abuse? possibly, pain basically, ponk and schlatt centric, ponk's response to schlatt's death, schlatt is dead thats what the tag is for!!, schlatt smashes a glass bottle and glass hits ponk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bungles77/pseuds/bungles77
Summary: Every Wednesday, Sam watches Ponk leave. It's routine - it's always the same time, on the same day, through sun or rain or snow. Concern for his friend took over him, eventually, and he followed along. Something he never expected was finding him at Schlatt's graves, a rose in his hand and tears in his eyes. Tears? For a dictator?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	unsaved

November 16th was a date Ponk thought would remain for him for life. It was a Monday, a bright day, all things considered, but all the tensions came crashing together. Pogtopia fought Manburg, in a supposedly heroic battle, fated to end in two men's deaths and chaos and destruction. Given that Ponk was a healer, he hadn't gotten entirely involved in the conflicts. That was only his outward explanation, though. In part, something within him couldn't bring him to fight against Schlatt. For weeks, he had watched the supposed tyrant's mental deterioration and physical deterioration, but there was nothing more he could do. A man couldn't be helped if he refused to be helped, right?

Guilt still consumed him at that prospect. His leaving had been something he reasonably needed to do. He could see a nation at its knees, of course, and he knew there was nothing more to be done. That being said.. he still felt awful. Maybe if he had done more, he might have been able to save him. Maybe he wouldn't have drunk himself to death, and be seen as nothing more than a reckless dictator with a mockable death. 

The Wednesday after Schlatt had been buried was the first time he had visited him. There were no flowers, this visit, he just spoke out loud. Remembering what had been.

One of the first times he met Schlatt, the ram had a proposition for him. A trade deal, between Manburg and Lemon City to ensure both of them prospered. He had a bright smile and a clean suit, and it made him want to agree. His words were clipped, but they made sense, and they shook hands and moved onto an era in which Lemon City flourished. It had been a time where Ponk hadn't even worked as a doctor for Manburg, they just gave each other what they needed. The two countries worked perfectly together, and he promised Schlatt he would be there if he ever needed anything.

The leader of Manburg hadn't been the one to come to him for help, either. It had been his right-hand - it had been Quackity. Dark one night, when Ponk was preparing for sleep, came a desperate banging at the door. Though disgruntled, he opened it, to see the panicked eyes of the second-in-command. Before Ponk could question him, he was already blurting out, "You're a doctor, right? It's - Maybe you can get through to Schlatt, he's not doing the best right now, and - and - " his words were stammered over, rush and fast, and the doctor moved to quickly place a hand on his shoulder. 

"I can help him, just show me the way," He replied, trying to reassure him. Of course, he didn't even know what was wrong with Schlatt, but he had pledged him his loyalty. Though the loyalty hadn't initially intended medical help, he felt it was still his duty to return something to the man who had helped him with Lemon City. Quackity's steps were rushed, fearful, and Ponk was half walking, half running after him. No words were spoken on the way there. Seeing Quackity so panicked was something entirely out of what he had expected, so he knew it was something entirely serious.

Coming up on a house, Quackity opened the door swiftly. A yell came immediately, the words slurred, "The hell are you doing back, Quackity? I thought I told you to leave!" There was venom in the tone, anger to the businessman that Ponk had never heard before. Surprise crossed his features, having never expected this from him, but he still moved forwards. Behind him, the door closed as Quackity scurried out once more. 

"It's not Quackity- it's Ponk," he called, a grunt being Ponk's only answer, "Have you been drinking?" He questioned, worried for the leader. Being the leader of such a country would obviously have its problems, and he couldn't imagine how awful it would be on his mental health. This was a sharp turn from the businessman with a promise for the future in mind. "No shit," the ram huffed out, stumbling over, "why're you here?"

Now he had come closer, he could see more of his appearance. The familiar suit was still donned, but it was now crumpled and messy, his hair was a scruffy mess, and deep bags were underneath his eyes. "I wanted to come to see you, you've... someone thought you might need help," 

"Help?" A mocking laugh escaped him, shaking his head as he pulled his hand up to drink more. A grimace took to his features when he downed it, but he held the drink down nonetheless. "Fucking Quackity... I don't need help, I'm perfectly fine," he replied, "you can go home, I'm fine," he repeated his words, stumbling over his sentence quite a bit. He was in such a state it made Ponk's heart ache, wanting to help him even somewhat. When the doctor spoke, his voice was firm, knowing he wouldn't react to politeness. "You need to drink water, and get some rest," He insisted, stepping closer but immediately faltering when the bottle was lifted at him.

"Get the fuck outta here! I don't need your goddamn help!" He snarled, stumbling closer in threat, and Ponk backed up. Though he might be able to take the drunk, he still wasn't a fighter. He didn't want to fight, and he didn't want to risk their allegiance together. For a moment, he watched him, until he gave in and nodded, turning away. "Stay safe, Schlatt," he said, ignoring the grumbles from behind him as he exited. Quackity was waiting outside when he left, and he couldn't look him in the eyes. The worry on the man's features was readable solely from the way he was stood, tense and anxious. He despised it. 

Such events occurred several times afterwards, increasing in intensity. One that stuck out, in particular, had been the final straw for Ponk. He had been visiting Schlatt, and the man was drunk once more. In a desperate attempt to help him, he kept reiterating that he needed to drink some water and sit down. The drunk had clearly had enough of himself being helped, though, smashing the bottle against the table next to him. Glass flew, and hit the doctor in the cheek, drawing blood. It was definitely a nasty wound, and it made him falter, look the ram in the eyes. 

No remorse, no guilt, just anger. 

Whatever man Ponk had met was gone, now. Nothing but an empty shell. Ponk turned on his heel and left. A week after, he was visiting Wilbur, pledging allegiance to Pogtopia. Nobody questioned the plaster on his cheek, and he was thankful for that.

Standing in front of Schlatt's grave made Ponk desperately wonder if he had done more. Still, after months, the tears filled his eyes, staring at what once had been a reliable ally. Reduced to nothing more than a forgotten villain, and it made him hurt. It wasn't just that, either - he was pretty sure he was the only person who ever visited the grave, anymore. At least on purpose. Brown eyes flitted down to the rose in his hands, and he let out a shaky breath. Stepping forwards and stooping down, he placed the rose at the foot of the grave, alongside the others. Some of the wind had scattered the flowers, so he did his best to put them back, or get rid of the ruined ones. 

Too much effort, some would say, but Ponk felt like he hadn't put in enough. 

Footsteps drew Ponk from his memories, and he swiftly turned, swiping at his eyes, but relaxing when he saw it was only Sam. Of all the people who could have seen him here, he felt that Sam would judge him the least. He definitely did look pitiful, currently, so he wouldn't even blame anybody for mocking him. Who would cry for a tyrant? Who would cry for somebody seen as a villain?

"Ponky.." A soft tone had taken to the man's voice, stepping forwards and cupping his cheek. Coincidentally, he started thumbing over the scar on his cheek, left by the glass Schlatt had accidentally hurt him with. No judgement, just worry for his friend, and it made Ponk's chest squeeze. The fact that Sam didn't even know the full picture, and still went to comfort rather than question him... He didn't know how the warden was this kind, but he was thankful to know him.

His head tilted into his hand, and Ponk let out a shaky breath, "I tried to help him, he - he was drinking himself to death, and I tried, but he wouldn't listen to me, and - and- " a gentle 'shh' cut him off, and he was brought into the warm embrace of the other. It only took a moment of resistance before he crumpled into the touch, breaking into tears. One of Sam's hands rubbed his back, and the other held his head. Sweet nothings were whispered, helping calm his friend down from his tears. Sam let him have as long as he needed.

Something in Ponk's brain told him he didn't deserve this, not for the traitor he was, but he selfishly kept himself in the hug, holding Sam tightly. He needed this comfort, even if he didn't deserve it, in his eyes.

If you were to ask Ponk how long they spent in the embrace, he wouldn't have the right answer. He cried until he couldn't anymore, and then still left himself in the hug for a while. The man holding him wasn't going to let go until the doctor needed that, and he made that clear. 

Eventually, Ponk felt ready to let go, and he stepped back. A half-smile was given to him, gentle reassurance from Sam, before he moved to Ponk's side and wrapped his arm around him. Wordlessly, he brought him away from the grave, knowing it might be best to have a break from being there. No argument came from the founder of Lemon City, just letting himself being steered away. He didn't have it within him to resist it, and Sam seemed to radiate heat, making him not want to pull away anyway. 

All the way home the two walked together, Sam taking the lead and bringing him to his room. Briefly, he disappeared, but it was only to grab him a glass of water, encouraging him to drink it. Ironic, Ponk said to himself, but he took the water and drank it. He was grateful for him, in a way that couldn't explain. When he finished drinking, he placed the water on the side, and Sam got ready to leave him. Before he left, though, he left Ponk with some words of wisdom.

"You can't save everybody. You did your best, but it's time to move on. I'll be here for as long as you need, okay? Rest up," Another smile was given to Ponk, warm and comforting, and he couldn't help but relax at the sight. When the warden left, Ponk did his best to settle back. He couldn't save everybody... He had to recognize that.

Sleep took a while, but he found himself eventually resting. He was finally accepting Schlatt's death, and that there wasn't much more he could have done to help him. 

Part of him hoped, wherever Schlatt was, he was doing better now.

**Author's Note:**

> ayo i completely ditched my other story if you guys wanna know my plan for it ill write it up but i lost all motivation for it sadge  
> i've been invested in ponk's lore recently and i think the fact that ponk was trying to help schlatt makes me really think yknow,, like he was really trying to help him huh? ponk was one of the last people on schlatt's side and i just think we need to talk about that more  
> also this isnt entirely accurate to the lore that happened its just my interpretation shrugs


End file.
